


In Which Peter is Good at Engineering and Steve is a Mama Bear

by Scotty1609



Series: Hey, Kid! (Or How the Avengers Unwittingly Adopted Spiderman) [6]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Spider-Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Flashbacks, Genius Peter Parker, Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of Rape, Mentions of blood and gore, PTSD, Peter Feels, Peter Parker is a Captain America fanboy, Precious Peter Parker, Protective Steve Rogers, Sexual Abuse, Steve Rogers Feels, Steve Rogers Is a Good Bro, Steve Rogers is a Feminist, but he hides it well, copping a feel of a minor, fight me, mentioned sexual abuse, pervert warning, sexual abuse of a minor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-31
Updated: 2016-12-31
Packaged: 2018-09-13 18:55:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,168
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9137116
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scotty1609/pseuds/Scotty1609
Summary: After his motorcycle starts acting up, Steve gets an offer from Bucky's new friend to ride the subway together. There's a pervert, flashbacks, and snowy days. Fluff ensues.





	

**Author's Note:**

> WARNINGS: mentions of sexual assault of a minor, mentions of rape of a minor, PTSD, flashbacks, mentions of war-time gore, mentions of Holocaust
> 
> This is one of the more angsty of the fics in this series, but I'm proud of it all the same. I hope you guys like it, too! :)
> 
> Much thanks to the anon 'Sam' for the prompt of 'Peter helps Steve fix his motorcycle'. I appreciate the help!!

Steve had seen a lot of shit in the military. Grenades and tanks were _not_ forgiving to the human body. He had seen countless mutilated corpses and mass graves, POW's that had been tortured out of their minds and starving victims of concentration camps. He had seen dead children and the parents that held their bodies, sobbing and wailing for lives lost. All lives were precious, in Steve's opinion.

That didn't mean he hadn't thought about taking his own before.

When he first woke up in the 21st century, Steve had highly considered jumping off a building or taking a bullet to the brain- both perhaps strong enough to kill him. He missed Bucky, missed Peggy- and then he realized that when he did meet up with the two in the afterlife, they would collectively kick his ass for doing that to himself.

So Steve didn't look down on the veterans that came into Sam's meetings with scars and fresh cuts on their wrists, drug and booze addictions, and broken hearts. He had been there, too. His coping mechanisms involved punching the living daylights out of sandbags. Hell, he still had flashbacks when the winter nights were too cold, when he saw someone fall from deathly heights. Typically they only lasted for a few moments, but after fighting an ice monster several weeks ago, Steve had been encased in a block of ice for a half hour. It would have killed a normal person, but for Steve, it merely knocked him into a PTSD-induced flashback for nearly an hour. When he woke up, Sam was rearing to drag him to meetings every week.

Steve only agreed to go when Bucky mentioned he would like to try it out, too.

Now, a day before New Year's Eve found Steve cursing and fighting the urge to kick at the snow. He had told Bucky and Steve to go on ahead of him back to the Tower. He had promised to stay back and speak with a young cadet who had grown up a fan of Captain America and wanted to know how he slept at night. Steve didn't regret staying behind to speak with the lad. In fact, he was considering doing it more often. But now he was stranded at the Rec center, seeing as how his motorcycle was being a stubborn bastard and refusing to start.

“You're Captain America.”

It was a common sentence that Steve heard, but typically it was phrased in a question format. He turned and saw the lanky brunet that Bucky had befriended several days ago. The kid was wrapped up in a scarf, beanie, and heavy coat against the heavy snow that surrounded them.

“Yeah,” Steve said bashfully when he realized the kid was waiting for a response.

“Huh. That's cool.”

The deadpan way the boy said it made Steve chuckle. “Thanks. But you can just call me Steve.”

“Peter,” the boy supplied. He tilted his head to peer around Steve to where the man's bike was propped up on its kickstand. “Bike not working?”

“Ah- no. It doesn't seem to want to start.”

The boy hummed. “Mind if I take a look?”

Taking a step back, Steve gestured to the bike. “Be my guest.” As Peter walked around the bike, studying its wheels and touching the front hood with precision, Steve felt the need to explain himself. “I had a bike way back when, but these things have updated since the 40's. I haven't really had time to update my own knowledge on them, either.”

Peter shrugged. “Engineering isn't for everyone.”

“But it is for you?”

“Hm,” the boy hummed, pushing his glasses up on his nose. “Mind if I take a look under the hood?”

Again, Steve gestured for Peter to take over, and the teenager lifted the small hood of the motorcycle to peer inside. “I think the oil's thickened up. A heat lamp should fix it up pretty easy, if you've got one.”

“So until I get a heat lamp, I'm stranded?”

Peter shrugged. “Could always take the subway. I'm headed that way if you wanna join? You could grab something from your house and come right back for the bike. This isn't a bad neighborhood, and besides- it can't start up. It should be fine.”

Might as well. The bike would be fine, like Peter said, and company was always welcome in the winter. It helped Steve stay rooted, talking to someone, and made the cold more bearable.

The walk to the nearest subway was rather short. Steve had always been told his pace was too long and too fast, but Peter seemed to have no issues keeping up. The kid didn't seem like the most athletic of people, but looks were deceiving, Steve knew from prior experience.

“Where're you from, kid?”

“Queens. You?”

Steve grinned. “Brooklyn. Born and raised.”

Peter gave a smile at that. “That's cool.” It was brighter than the deadpanned voice from earlier, and Steve took that as a compliment.

The silence between them was comfortable as they descended into the subway station. It was rather crowded, being late in the afternoon on a Friday, and Steve made sure to keep an eye on his companion. It would be easier to keep track of the short teenager if he was talking...

“So you like engineering?”

The teenager's face lit up like it was Christmas, and he began blabbering on about some sort of invention he had created in his free-time. Steve didn't understand half the language the kid was using, but he nodded along and smiled like he did when Tony was going off about his newest marks.

They entered the subway car together, and Steve noted that he would have to get off before the boy in order to get back to Avenger's Tower. It was illogical, but a protective warmth spread in his chest as he glanced at Peter. The kid was animatedly talking about his invention, making wild gestures and sound effects to boot. _C'mon, Rogers. He's a Queens kid. He's ridden subways by himself before. There's no reason to worry-_

And then Peter squeaked, jumping nearly a foot in the air. He clutched to Steve's sleeve with wide, frightened eyes as a man brushed behind him, and if Steve saw right, the bastard had just _coped_ a fucking _feel_.

“Oh, sorry, kid,” came the man's sickeningly sweet voice. He bent down to whisper in Peter's ear, and without his super-senses, Steve never would have heard him. _“Nice ass you've got there, kid. It'd be a shame if someone-”_

Before he knew what he was doing, Steve had slammed the pervert against the wall of the crowded subway car, making people shout and gasp. One hand on the man's throat, the other tightened into a fist next to the man's head (making a rather deep indent in the steel of the car), Steve got close to his face. The glare that covered his features made the man smile in response, and Steve was tempted to throw the bastard to the floor of the car and pound in his smug face.

“You his boyfriend or somethin? Bit young for Captain America, eh?”

“ _Is that really Captain America?”_

“ _Why is he attacking that guy?”_

“ _Why is he riding the **subway**?”_

“S-Steve.”

Peter was holding onto the back of his coat like a small, frightened child. “S-Steve,” he whispered, knowing the man could hear him perfectly well. “Let's j-just go, alright? Let's leave. _Please_.”

Steve didn't move from holding the man by his throat until the subway car jerked to a stop. Then, he tossed the man into a seat, making sure the pervert was as far away from Peter as possible as he led the boy by the shoulder out of the subway station.

They quickly exited the station, Steve's hand leading Peter gently out into the streets. There was a park and a gazebo nearby, so Steve took them to sit under it, shielded from the gentle snowfall.

Peter curled up into a ball on the picnic table, hiding from the world as best he could. His arms were wrapped around his legs, his shoulders hunched over as he his his quivering mouth behind his knees. Steve could still see the teen's eyes, though, and he winced. He had seen those eyes before- those broken, glazed over eyes that signaled a flashback. The fucking pervert from the car had triggered a flashback in this poor kid, and Steve was hopeless to help him.

“Peter,” Steve spoke unsure, crouching to be eye-to-eye to the boy. He repeated the things that Sam told him during flashbacks, the things that he told Bucky, the things that Bucky told Sam. “Peter, whatever you're seeing, it's not real. It's over, and you're safe, now. I promise. I'm here, Peter. I won't let anyone hurt you.”

It took a few minutes, long, drawn-out minutes that were achingly painful, but Peter's eyes slowly came to focus on Steve's.

“S-Steve?”

Steve smiled gently. “Yeah, kiddo. I'm here.”

“...m'not a kid.”

That brought a chuckle to Steve's lips. “Right.” Taking a seat on the table next to Peter, Steve gently elbowed the boy. “You alright? Had a flashback there, huh?” When Peter said nothing, Steve continued. “I get them, too. The war wasn't kind. I saw a lot of things I sometimes wish I hadn't. I wouldn't wish those images or experiences on anyone. I saw and still see a lot of young ones, like you, and it strikes me hard, knowing that you guys go through some of the same shit that I have. That I _do_.” Sighing, Steve ran a hand through his hair. “I guess what I'm trying to say is it isn't only you. For me, the flashbacks were about Bucky, my best friend. I saw him die- or at least, I thought I did, for the longest time- and that hurt. _Badly_. So whoever or whatever you're seeing, you can come to me if you want.”

“...Skip.”

Steve schooled his face to be open and receiving. He didn't say anything, but nodded for him to continue.

“S-Skip Wescott,” Peter coughed out. “He- when I was little- he... He was my babysitter, back when I was nine. He was, like, sixteen or something?” The teenager pulled at his hair nervously. “And one day he- ah- showed me some magazines n' stuff...” From the redness of Peter's face, Steve could guess what kind of magazines they were. “Next thing I knew, he was ripping off my pants.”

The protective streak in Steve's chest from earlier was burning with a passion now, and he wished he could find the bastard who hurt this kid and make sure he didn't hurt anyone else ever again.

“It took a few months, but I told my Aunt and Uncle- my guardians- and he went to Juvie. And then prison afterward. But... a few months ago...” This was when Peter started to sniffle. “He showed up at my school.”

Steve's nails were biting into his palms painfully, and he hid his fists from Peter by slowly putting them in his jacket pockets.

“He- he tried to- to do what he did last time, but- my friend Gwen- her dad was the police chief- she saw and pepper sprayed him.” This brought a smile to Peter's face. “Skip went back to prison. But- when Gwen- when she died... The flashbacks started. I mean, I know it's stupid, it's not going to happen again-”

“No, Peter.” Steve spoke confidently, but gentle all the same. “No. Never call your emotions or flashbacks stupid. Your emotions are valid.”

“Not logical.”

Steve shrugged. “But still valid. Sometimes you've gotta get out of your science brain, kiddo, and look to your heart.”

Peter snorted, wiping away a tear. “Way to get mushy on me, Cap.”

Steve laughed at the nickname and ruffled Peter's bangs affectionately. “Hey! Men can have emotions too. I thought the 21st century was big on equality and all.”

“Oh, we are. I guess I just didn't expect the super-soldier to be big on _feelings_.”

“Not a lot of people do. I guess I just come across different.”

Peter smirked, and Steve felt as though he were missing something in the boy's next statement. “Yeah. I guess my appearance is a bit deceiving, too.”

“I dunno. The glasses make you look smart, and you sure do sound it, too... Ready to head home?”

“Not the subway?”

“Not the subway. I'll walk you back.”

“I thought you were from Brooklyn?”

Steve shook his head. “I live at Avenger's Tower.”

“That's still kinda far...”

“It's not bad... for a super-soldier.”

Peter grinned at that and nodded, hopping off the table. “Sure thing, then, Cap! Maybe I can help you out with your bike-engineering-issues while we're at it!”

“Sure thing, kiddo.”

“Still not a kid.”

And for once, as he walked through the snowy city with the chattering teenager next to him, Steve didn't mind the cold.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you guys liked it, and I hope I haven't offended anyone with my take on PTSD. I apologize if I have.
> 
> Please continue to send me lovely prompts! I need some for Nat and Tony, still. And I would like to know what other Avengers you guys want Peter to meet!! Thanks a bunch, friends, and I hope you continue enjoying!! :)


End file.
